


And so the rain fell

by SilverLynxx



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post Thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 02:59:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverLynxx/pseuds/SilverLynxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Loki's fall, rain falls softly in Asgard for days in reflection of Thor's grief. Frigga, to try and get away from the palace and oppressive memories, visits Heimdall and offers him small comforts at his post as she asks after her lost son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And so the rain fell

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been struggling to write for the last few weeks, lack of motivation and time more than anything else thanks to work, laptop troubles and college (mostly work). But I saw this comment made to [Brodinsons](http://brodinsons.tumblr.com/) and was basically whacked between the eyes with inspiration to produce this drabbly thing.

It fell for days. 

But it didn’t reign down in a maelstrom; wind did not howl and whistle through the streets with grief and the droplets did not strike like daggers in a misguided endeavour to release the pain and anger. The clouds did not even gather dark and grey like an unrepentant storm of woe.

Instead the clouds gathered in silence, thick walls of maudlin greys and silvers clinging together in a blanket that shrouded the sun, and the rain fell soft and silent, a whisper as is fell upon the aberrantly reserved city, and clung with longing to whoever was caught without shelter.

It fell for days. 

The sky wept when the eldest – only – prince could not. It spoke of the suffering and grief that could not be expressed; humbled, but cowed by the events that had spiralled out of his control. Though everyone accepted that truth bar himself.

It fell for days. 

And it spoke of the confusion, and the loss.

Frigga stepped out of the palace and took a moment to stare at the desolate sky as it wept alone in the quiet, with none able to offer comfort, none which would truly mend the hurt. She sighed; a soft, despairing sound of a mother helpless. She drew the hood of her cloak up and stepped out into the gentle onslaught, and carried herself through the sparsely occupied streets. 

To travel by horse would have been faster, but she wanted to escape, if only for a little while; to see the city around her gradually recovering from the blow of a cherished Prince suddenly fractured and lost to them. It gave her hope for the city and its people, but she would not coddle such whims in regards to her family, the damage was, quite sufficiently, irreparable. 

At last she set foot upon the bridge and allowed her mind to wander with the flitting colours beneath her feet, listening to the crashing waves far below the bridge and the rain making the surface of the pass ripple with a mournful beauty.

“Good noon, Heimdall, All-Seer,” she greeted as she reached the shattered end of her path, a worn smile on her lips as she came to stand beside the towering figure gilded in gold. 

Amber eyes stared forward without a hint of focus, but Frigga did not mind the lack of acknowledgement; she knew he glimpsed hundreds of lives, thousands of moments, in nary a single sweep, more than what Frigga could ever hope to comprehend.

“Good noon, my queen,” Heimdall returned, “What brings you unto my bridge in such weather?”

Frigga reached beneath her robes and withdrew a towel, still warm with the lingering effects of her simple seidr. She proffered the realm-keep the cloth, and Heimdall received it with a bow, amenably dabbing his skin exposed to the rain. 

The queen stood in silence for a minute and stared out into the web of stars and realms. “Have you seen him, Heimdall? Anything at all?” she asked quietly.

“Nothing but darkness, my queen,” was the dutiful response, though there was a low, regretful baritone to his often passive response. Sympathetic, and remorseful, despite everything.

Frigga’s hand cupped her mouth silently, her eyes closed to the world. She inhaled deeply and then released it, shoulders dropping. “I see, thank you.”

Before the queen, - wife, _mother_ \- left, she pulled another item from the inner folds of her cloak and offered it to Heimdall. “To keep you dry, the weather has been…sad,” she whispered, before turning and taking her leave, making her way slowly back along the bridge with only the fleeting colours and rippling puddles to accompany her.

Heimdall waited until the footsteps faded completely before he clutched the warm silken cloth and let it unravel. 

He stared at it, at the cloak several sizes to small, freshly woven and an iridescent green.

Heimdall rolled it back up, tucked it safely in the towel, and didn’t spare it another glance.


End file.
